


Nightmares

by uniquepov



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Community: lewis_challenge, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, International Fanworks Day 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/uniquepov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is having trouble sleeping. Robbie knows how that feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Lewis Roulette]() and International Fanworks Day 2015.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis, Hathaway, or any of the others; only the plot is mine, and I make no profit from these scribblings. I'm just playing in Colin Dexter's sandbox for a while.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** If you’re unfamiliar with the song, I highly recommend that you listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD-E-LDc384). The text of the lyrics can be found [here](http://www.metallica.com/releases/enter-sandman.asp). Many thanks to lindenharp for encouragement and beta reading - any remaining errors are entirely my own fault.

They’re sat on the sofa, side by side, drinking Bridge and half-watching, half-mocking some detective drama, when James speaks. It seems to come out of nowhere, but Robbie knows better. This has been percolating in his lanky sergeant’s brain for quite some time.

“Do you ever have nightmares?”

Robbie lets his head rest against the cushions and looks up at the ceiling. The silence stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. Eventually, he sighs. “Not as much as I did,” Robbie says, tone gruff. “But still, yeah. Now and again.”

James seems to consider that. He gives a nod, as though that settles the matter. There’s another long silence. Robbie’s about to ask, but James asks another question, instead.

“Do you mind if I…?” he pauses, then plunges ahead. “Have they always been about your… your wife? Or…?”

The silence stretches out longer this time. It’s not like James to pry. Talking about personal things is not something they do, after all. But they _have_ worked side by side for nigh on six years, and been … well, Robbie supposes it’s hardly fair to say that James has only been his sergeant all these years. James has been his best mate; hell, he’s been a bloody saviour, if Robbie’s being honest.

When Robbie’d come back from his secondment, he hadn’t been sure he could stay in Oxford. He’d got past the worst of his grief, yes; finally managed to escape taking up permanent residence in a bottle of brandy. But then he’d arrived at the airport, back in Britain, and the wave of loss had washed over him like that first, awful night when he’d got the news. He’d been so distracted by it, he’d nearly walked out into traffic.

James had saved him. He’d saved Robbie within moments of meeting him, and quite a few times over since then.

“Not always,” Robbie admits softly. “Sometimes it’s Val. Sometimes it’s the kids, or me grandson. Sometimes, it’s the cases. The sick minds, or their victims.”

James nods again, and subsides, sipping his beer. Half an hour later, he’s up, fetching them both another bottle. He hands one to Robbie before dropping back down on to the sofa.  
“I’ve… not been sleeping,” he says. 

Robbie supposes he should have been expecting this. “The Zelinsky case.” It’s not a question.

James takes a long pull from his bottle. This time, the silence between them thickens, like a heavy fog. Robbie’s starting to wonder if they are actually going to talk about this at all, when James whispers, “And …Crevecoeur.”

Robbie stills, an icy dread coming over him. “James –“

James shakes his head. “We’ve both seen more than our fair share of monsters, sir. But there _are_ some which have managed to take a particularly tenacious hold in my memory.”

Robbie’s not sure he should let James deflect like that; doesn’t know if he should push, or if he should do what they always do and fall back on wry observation and a bit of gentle mockery. Before he can decide, James speaks again.

“What do you do when the beasts aren’t in your closet or underneath your bed? What do you do when the monsters are in your own head? In your soul?”

Robbie feels something inside him crack. He shifts around so that he’s facing James, one knee up on the sofa, pressed lightly into James’s side. “I know it can feel like that, lad, but there’s no monsters inside you.”

James stares straight ahead, jaw twitching. “But-“

“No ‘buts,’” Robbie says firmly. “Told you then: _nothing_ that happened there was your fault. And neither was what happened to that poor young girl.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am.” Robbie’s voice is filled with quiet conviction, and he knows James hears it by the infinitesimal change in the angle his head’s tilted at. The silence should feel oppressive, but instead, it seems like it’s lightened, just a little. 

“There is no shortage of monsters in the world, it seems,” James says after a while.

“That’s why we do what we do,” Robbie tells him. “To try to keep them at bay.” James finally looks at him then, eyes locking on Robbie’s. Suddenly, Robbie can see all the pain, fear, and loneliness that James normally keeps hidden under his cleverclogs sarcastic exterior. Robbie sucks in a breath, but keeps his steady gaze on James. His friend needs comfort, and after everything James has done for him, Robbie is determined to help him, if he can.

After a few moments, James looks away and Robbie withdraws, settling again with his back against the sofa, shoulder, thigh and knee pressed lightly against James. Robbie can’t keep the monsters at bay forever, can’t turn James’s childhood into happy memories or erase the horror of some of the things they’ve witnessed. But he can remind James that he’s here beside him, that they’re in this together, that James doesn’t have to shoulder the burden alone.

It’s a small moment, but James leans back in against him, allowing himself to accept the comfort Robbie’s offering. Robbie lets the silence return to the comfortable familiarity they’re both used to, these evenings they spend in front of the telly in Robbie’s flat.

“Why don’t you kip on the sofa here tonight?” Robbie says finally. “I’ll stand you a proper fry-up down at the White Horse for breakfast.”

James’s lips quirk upwards. “Be still, my heart.”

They’re back on firm, familiar ground, but now Robbie has had a glimpse at some of what is running beneath the surface with James, and he won’t forget. He will find a way to help his friend, to show James that he’s got far more light in him than darkness. Yes, he’s made mistakes – who among them hasn’t? – but James is as far from a monster as it’s possible to get. And one day, Robbie will get him to see that.

For now, Robbie will just be sure to stay close to James’s side.


End file.
